The Greatest Game: A study in fear
by NightLark
Summary: Moriarty received a phone call and walked out of the swimming pool but the rest of season 2 never happened. Now, 6 months later, Moriarty has a new challenge for Sherlock. His greatest game ever, with a brand new player.
1. Chapter 1

"_You look beautiful in that dress sweetheart. Who could resist such a beautiful gift as you?" He ran a brush through her silken hair and tied a ribbon in the locks. "Turn around, let me look at you?" The girl turned, her eyes fixed on the ground. He tenderly stroked her cheek, before cupping her chin and lifting it so her brown eyes met his own. "Why so sad?" She didn't respond. He sighed and lifted her easily in his arms before placing her on the bed. "Time for you to have a little nap," he told her, producing a syringe from his pocket filled with a clear liquid. At the sight of it, the girl jerked upright as if she might run for the door but he placed a gentle hand on her cheek once again._

"_Calm down...when you wake up, things will be ok. Just relax. I'd never let them hurt you." While she was distracted, he slipped the needle into her wrist and pushed down on the plunger. The girl stiffened, then relaxed as the fast acting sedative began to take hold. He arranged her limp body on the bed as if arranging a corpse for a viewing, placing a second ribbon around her ankle like a mortuary tag, completing the corpse image._

"_Perfect." He kissed her tenderly on the forehead, before striding out of the room, pausing only to hit play on the CD player._

* * *

Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here. ~ Marianna Williamson

* * *

The phone rang, the sound reverberating around the darkened flat, impossibly loud and shrill to the slumbering ears of Doctor John Watson. John blinked blearily, sitting up. He stumbled out of his bedroom, pulling on his dressing gown as he did, and made it into the living room, searching for the phone in the pitch blackness, falling over several items on the way which made him curse under his breath.

"It's over here," Sherlock's lazy voice came from the darkness. John jumped, his body tensing at the possibility of a threat, and switched on the light, blinking as he was almost blinded by the brightness. Sherlock was lying supine on the sofa, fingers tented under his chin, eyes fixed contemplatively on the ceiling. He seemed undisturbed by the noise of the phone or the sudden bright light.

"You're awake."

"Clearly."

"Why didn't you get the phone?" John's voice showed his irritation. Ever since the incident at the swimming pool with Moriarty, he hadn't been sleeping that well. It wasn't PTSD, he knew that so he hadn't bothered hiring a therapist. The main reason was that Sherlock had become obsessive about it, waking John at odd hours to force him to partake in some insane new theory. When he did manage to remain undisturbed, he frequently woke himself, thinking that he had heard something somewhere in the flat. The stress was fraying his nerves, added to by his recent break up with Sarah and the fact that he had no one to talk to, since everyone was incredulous as to why he remained with the detective. Sometimes, like right now, he wondered himself.

"It's there. I'm here." He gestured to the phone on the cluttered coffee table, barely a foot from his spot on the sofa. John scowled and picked up the phone.

"Dr. John Watson speaking," he said, rubbing his eyes and running fingers through his hair. His eyes rested on the clock, taking in the luminous green numbers. 1:34 AM. Who the hell was calling?

"John, its Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sorry to call so late. Is Sherlock there?" Well, that was typical. Naturally it would be for Sherlock. No one else received calls this late at night unless a family member had died. He briefly wondered why Lestrade hadn't simply called Sherlock's mobile. There was probably more chance of him answering it, although it was likely that it would be in a place that Sherlock's apathetic form wouldn't reach.  
John cast a glance at his immobile flatmate who appeared disinterested, completely ignoring John's presence.

"Yes. I'll pass you over. Sherlock?" He offered the phone to Sherlock who deigned to raise an eyebrow in his direction as a response, before returning his gaze to the ceiling. John sighed. This was why people nicknamed him 'Sherlock's PA', amongst other things that was. "Sorry Lestrade, he doesn't seem to want to communicate right now. What's the problem?"

"I can't say too much right now, but Sherlock needs to get to the hospital. You both need to actually. Can't wait till morning I'm afraid, hence the ungodly hour. Tell him it's about Moriarty." The line went dead. John eyed it warily as if it was a snake, the mention of Moriarty's name making him instantly reluctant. He still remembered all too clearly the feel of that man's hands on him as he strapped multiple bombs to him. He looked over at Sherlock, silently wondering if he'd appear suspicious if he didn't tell him what the call was about. He sighed and decided he better. If he didn't, it would be one of the rare moments that Sherlock took notice. And it could be a matter of life or death after all. And it better be, he thought grimly, even Moriarty didn't warrant a call at this hour unless he was about to abseil through their window with a machine gun or something.

"We have to go out."

"Why?"

"Because Lestrade wants us at the hospital." His voice was weary as he slowly picked up his jacket and slipped it on. When he heard no sign of movement behind him, he turned to look at his languid flatmate.

"And we have to go out because...?" Sherlock's face seemed genuinely confused. John resisted rolling his eyes.

"Look, he wouldn't have rung unless it was important"

"Did he say it was important?"

"Yes."

"Really? He said 'John, it's very important?"

"No but – "

"Then it can't be important. He knows how to get my attention. That's not how you do it. Goodnight John." He closed his eyes and relaxed once more, if he'd ever been even remotely tense with motivation that was.

"He said it was about Moriarty." Sherlock leapt from his chair, grabbing his coat and heading out of the door in a flap of coat tails before John could blink. The doctor stared after him, and then muttered "You were right, he really does know how to get your attention." He followed Sherlock down the stairs and out of the flat, where his partner was already hailing a taxi.

* * *

They spent the drive to the hospital in silence. John was struggling to stay awake while Sherlock was lost in his own thoughts as per normal, most of which were focused on Moriarty and what possible reason they were being called to a hospital in relation to him.

When they reached the hospital, Lestrade was waiting outside, looking incredibly stressed and more than a little disturbed, his eyes haunted by something. He was pacing, running his fingers through his hair.

"What is it?" snapped Sherlock, not even pausing to analyse Lestrade's movements or physicality for once. His desire to see Moriarty caught, no not just caught but destroyed, a victim of his own game, was making his short span of patience dwindle quicker than normal.

"Follow me." Lestrade led the way inside, talking as they went. Sherlock's nose wrinkled at the smell of chemicals, sterile, harsh to his nostrils. "We've been tracking Moriarty since the swimming pool incident. We got pretty close to catching him quite quickly as well..."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" His tone was irritated and more than a little surprised.

"Because you're not an officer Sherlock. And I knew that if I told you, you'd want to be involved."

"Quite right too. He's my mental equal and... well the man did try and blow me up."

"That was me actually..." muttered John.

"Anyway. We almost caught him but apparently he didn't like you not being involved anymore than you like being out of the loop, and he disappeared right before we could catch him."

"Of course he did. Moriarty's smart. You never get close to him unless he wants you to. The fact that you got as close as you did was merely because he wanted you there, wanted me to be there and since I wasn't, he got bored of letting you chase him. This is why, when Moriarty's involved, I should be too." Lestrade sent him an irritated look.

"We continued the search, managed to track him to a location, a warehouse near the river, but he..."

"Wasn't there?" John caught the glimmer of a smirk on Sherlock's lips and could tell Lestrade was beginning to regret calling him in.

"No, he wasn't," admitted Lestrade. "But she was." They stopped outside a private hospital room, two police officers were stood at the door.

"She?" Sherlock frowned. "You brought us down here because you found Moriarty's date?" His voice curled in disgust at the notion and he turned slightly in preparation to walk away, back down the corridor.

"No, not date. Believe it or not Sherlock, we're not as incompetent as you like to make out." Lestrade pushed the door open so that they could see the hospital bed, which was occupied by a small girl. She was pale with long, unkept dark hair. There was a small pile of clothing on the bedside table next to her. Sherlock strode into the room and gave her a cursory glance, barely running his eyes over her for more than a second.

"Caucasian female, I'd say about 10 years of age, judging by her pre-adolescent style body and small stature. Been tied up a while judging by the bruising on her wrists. Doesn't look underfed or injured in any other way, in fact she seems healthy. But any doctor could have told you that. Why did you bring us here?" Sherlock's voice was bored, clearly annoyed that it wasn't something more interesting to him.

"Because she came with this." Lestrade picked up a red ribbon from the bedside table. It looked like the sort a Christmas present would be wrapped with, complete with a gift tag.

"It's a little early for Christmas presents Lestrade, although I appreciate the gesture." Said Sherlock. Lestrade rolled his eyes and passed John the gift card. He read it, eyes widening slightly as he did so.

"Sherlock...you need to stop joking. This is serious." Sherlock snatched it from him.

_**My dearest Sherlock,  
I was greatly disappointed that the police failed to contact you with their latest investigations. You've probably got very bored in my absence, I know I have with yours, so I thought I'd send you a gift. My greatest game yet.  
Oh, she's probably suffered a little trauma so I'd have your doctor pet take care of her.  
Much love  
Moriarty xx**_

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and gave the girl a second look. John frowned, detecting that small smile on Sherlock's face that appeared whenever a case caught his interest.

"So he left me a girl? Why?"

"That's what I was hoping you could explain. She was unconscious when we found her. No sign of trauma so the doctors think it was a sedative. She's generally healthy, like you said, but we have no idea who she is, where she's from or where her parents are. Her appearance doesn't match any of the photos or descriptions of missing children. She's a complete mystery."

"His greatest game yet..." murmured Sherlock. "But that can't be all it is, surely? It's too... simple for him." He suddenly walked off, briskly down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" called Lestrade.

"Home. I need to think and I can't deduce anything further from an unconscious witness. I'll be back tomorrow and I want to see where you found her. Give John your crime scene photos that I'm sure you have" The detective sighed and past John an envelope. John gave the detective an apologetic look before following Sherlock. To his surprise, Sherlock didn't head outside in search of a taxi like he expected, but to the hospital cafeteria.

"Why are we here?" he asked, frowning.

"Caffeine. I need caffeine," muttered Sherlock. "It's not much but it'll do. Did you get the crime scene photos?"

"I..err...yes." John held up the envelope which Sherlock snatched from him. "Why would Moriarty send you an unconscious ten year old?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. You think like him."

"Just because I think like him doesn't mean I understand everything he does. If I knew why it wouldn't be a game, John. It would be boring"

"Not denying it, I see."

"Of course not. I know it's true, why bother denying it?" Sherlock got his coffee and sat down at one of the tables, opening the envelope and spreading the photos out on the table. They showed what appeared to be a child's bedroom from multiple angles. Sherlock let out an irritated noise.

"I can't work with these. I need to see it for myself." He pushed them over to the doctor. "Have a look, see what you can deduce." John peered at the photographs.

"Well, a child's bedroom. Very old fashioned style. No wallpaper, looks like corrugated iron which makes sense considering Lestrade said she was found in a warehouse."

"It always amazes me how well you can analyze something yet continue to find absolutely nothing of importance." John pushed the photos back across the table, got up and strode out of the room. Sherlock watched him go, frowning in confusion and mild irritation at his departure, before falling back to examining the pictures.

* * *

John didn't go home. He went back up to the young girl's room. He was a doctor after all and he felt like he needed to prove he was of some use, even if it was just to himself and no one else. Lestrade was still there, sitting by the girl's bed.

"Sherlock wants to see the crime scene in person... the pictures weren't enough apparently" John muttered, sitting down next to him.

"I expected as much but I hoped they'd placate him for a bit longer."

"When Moriarty's involved, nothing will placate him." Lestrade nodded knowingly and his gaze fell back on the girl. John followed his line of sight. "What's going to happen to her?" He nodded at the girl.

"Well, if we can't find any relatives, which at the moment is looking likely considering we don't even know her name let alone her surname, she'll probably be put into care."

"Poor kid"

"Very. I've seen all kinds of twisted kidnappings, murders but never something like this. Never with this much...care or attention. The whole place was just so...eerie. Just this little girl's bedroom in the middle of nowhere with this song playing over and over." John shuddered at the mental image and nodded. This poor girl needed to be somewhere safe. She shouldn't be involved in these twisted games.

"Well, Moriarty has never been exactly normal from what I've seen, but this takes the cake even for him."

"We know why he's doing this though. Anonymous child in a creepy bedroom set up for Sherlock? It's going to drive him crazy."

"Just what we need. A crazy Sherlock Holmes," said John with a sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

_She ran her eyes around the mock cosy room and took a hesitant seat on the edge of the bed. The false niceties of it were more terrifying to her than the cold empty warehouse. It all felt so wrong and she felt a strong urge to run. All that kept her in place was his presence in the doorway and the reminder of the armed guards that were waiting outside._

_He ran an eye over the room, making sure everything was perfectly in place. Always the showman, he wanted to achieve the maximum level of impact. She picked up a small teddy that was nestled between the pillows and held it close to her. It was from home and its presence was both reassuring and disturbing. She pressed her nose against its soft fur, trying to draw some comfort from it. It smelt like warmth and safety, biscuits and warm fires, masking the still lingering scent of her father's cologne. She put the bear back again quickly when her nostrils became aware of that scent._

_He took a seat beside her and patted moved her to stand in front of him with her back to him. She stood there awkwardly; head down even though she didn't have to avoid his gaze this time. He smiled and stroked her waterfall of black hair. _

"_Are you ready?"_

"_I think so..." she whispered, unsure of what she needed to be ready for._

* * *

When desire dies, fear is born. ~ Baltasar Gracian

* * *

Sherlock swept into the hospital room the next morning and gave John, who was sitting in the chair, a look that was stuck somewhere between confusion and sadness.

"You didn't come home last night." His voice was almost hurt which made John bristle. What did he have to be hurt about? Of course, in his addled mind, John was probably the one at fault.

"No I didn't," said John, stiffly.

"Why?"

"I didn't want to be where my useless presence wasn't wanted."

"John please..." There was a tinge of frustration leaking through into Sherlock's voice as he spoke. John turned his head away, feeling a little like a petulant child but resolved not to give in.

"No, no, I know when and where my presence is needed. Oh and Lestrade said you can look around the crime scene today, since the pictures he gave you also failed to live up to expectations."

"Oh good, shall we go?" asked Sherlock, ignoring the last remark as his brain clung to the most important information. He prepared to leave the room but John's response halted him.

"No. I'm staying here."

"What? Why?" Sherlock couldn't come up with a single good reason for John to stay in the hospital. He was a doctor but there were plenty of other doctors working on the girl. Besides, she wasn't even conscious yet.

"Because I am a doctor and Moriarty said that she would need treatment."

"And you're going to follow his advice are you?"

"Yes Sherlock because I, unlike some people, actually listen to advice. Maybe in future you should do the same and stop taking out your anger at Moriarty on me, and actually take it out on someone who deserves it for once!" there was silence for a few moments as Sherlock seemed to struggle for a response. When that failed, he walked out of the room. Lestrade, who has entered at some point during the discussion, looked at John.

"And you wonder why people think you're a couple?"

"Shut up Lestrade." Before anyone could say anything else, there was a soft groan from the bed. John turned and saw the girl struggling into a sitting position.

"I'll get a doctor." Said Lestrade.

"I am a doctor." He went over to the bed. "Hello. My name is Doctor John Watson." The girl seemed scared, curling up in a ball. "You don't need to be scared, okay? I won't hurt you. This is Detective Inspector Lestrade, he found you. Do you remember anything?" The girl nodded slowly. "Are you hurt?" she shook her head. "What's your name?" there was silence. "How old are you?" again, more silence. "Do you have any family?" Silence. "Ok, I'll be back in a minute." John led Lestrade out of the room. Sherlock was lingering in the corridor but John ignored him as he drifted over.

"I think she's suffering from post traumatic stress which accounts for the lack of talking. Physically, she appears to be fine from my cursory glance. Obviously the hospital doctors will have examined her and identified any problems but I think she's definitely suffering some trauma, and that's what Moriarty was referring to. When the social services get involved, can I have a word with them?"

"Of course John. They should be here in about an hour and a half. Thanks for your help." John watched Lestrade return to the room and then turned to Sherlock.

"I thought you'd gone to the crime scene."

"I wanted to wait for you."

"Oh? Because Mrs Hudson threw out your skull and it looks less odd when you're talking to me?"

"John, I'm not going to apologise" Sherlock said, folding his arms. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes again.

"Of course not. Come on, let's go check out the crime scene." The pair headed out of the hospital to the taxi rank and John gave the address he'd got off Lestrade.

* * *

They pulled up outside a warehouse near the docks, marked off with police tape. They spoke briefly with the officers on the scene, before going inside. Most of the warehouse was empty but in the very centre was a shipping container that was open to reveal its contents. Sherlock stepped inside. The container walls were painted white with a border of pink flowers. A scent of fresh paint lingered in the air. A bed neatly made up with white and pink sheets was against one wall, with a teddy bear nestled between the pillows. Beside the bed was a bedside table with a lamp, a clock and a jewellery box. A doll's house was in the corner of the container, a collection of stuffed toys occupied one shelf on a bookcase, the rest were filled with a variety of books which Sherlock briefly ran his eyes over. There was a CD player on the top of the bookcase. One wall had drawings pinned to it, beautifully advanced sketches. John stayed in the doorway as Sherlock examined the area. Sherlock stooped and picked something off the floor, examining it briefly. John remembered something Lestrade had said and went over to the CD player. He hit the play button. There was a quiet noise as the machine whirred into life, then soft haunting music filled the container.

_If you knew that I could take the pain...  
Inflicted at the battle..._

"Lestrade was right. That is creepy." John remarked. He looked over at Sherlock who had his eyes closed and was tapping his fingers against his legs.

_But it's a special death you saved...  
For me the brown-eyed daughter...  
Once you made it hotter..._

Sherlock's eyes opened again.

"Shut that off. Let's go." He said, simultaneously striding towards the exit. John frowned, hitting the stop button.

"But we haven't learnt anything?" his tone made it sound like a question.

"Oh no, nothing at all. Except the girl's name, her age, the fact that she was either kidnapped recently or was held somewhere else before being brought here and that Moriarty kidnapped someone else who he wants us to know about." John sighed.

"Ok. Explain. How'd you know the girl's name first of all?" Sherlock held up what he'd picked up earlier. John came over. It was a silver heart shaped locket.

"The locket is about a year old, well cared for, expensive too. Its owner is definitely female, no older than 20 because of the style. It's inscribed on the back with the words 'Dear Maddie, happy birthday, love daddy'. So it was a gift. The use of the word 'daddy' suggests a young child but not too young because you wouldn't give expensive jewellery to a child so the owner was most likely about nine or ten when the received it, making them ten or eleven now unless it's an adolescent with severe problems. The name Maddie is a diminutive for Maddison. The locket is missing it's chain and there's no sign of it anywhere around here but there was a silver chain with the girl in the hospital's clothes, meaning the locket is probably hers, or else it's a relative's which means that Moriarty has a second girl for us to find. However, it's more likely to be the latter considering the girl's physical stature and development making her a ten year old girl with the name Maddison. Do you want me to explain the other things I noticed or shall i wait for us to get back to the hospital as I will most likely need to explain it again to Lestrade and his brigade of trained monkeys."

"I'll wait..." They left the container, Sherlock pocketing the locket subtly so none of the police around would call him up on it. John was quiet, unable to get the haunting melody out of his head. Sherlock also had the song on his mind. He knew everything that Moriarty did had a purpose and he wanted to know what that meant.

* * *

They arrived back at the hospital and found Lestrade looking even more distressed then usual.

"What's happened now?" asked John at the same time as Sherlock said "Has she spoken yet?"

"No she hasn't. And the social services office just got set on fire." John blinked and stared. Sherlock looked unsurprised.

"Guess Moriarty didn't approve of your plans for her." Said Sherlock with a shrug before heading towards her room. Lestrade grabbed his wrist.

"Oh no. First you need to tell me what you found out at the crime scene."

"Fine. Her name is Maddison. She's ten or eleven years old. She wasn't held in the container for long and it was only set up a few days ago maximum. He's also got another person, or he has in the past. Look for missing persons with the initials M.M and backgrounds in art. He may still have them or they may have shown up dead by now. Probably the latter, most likely some unsolved case that he wants to show off about. Now, I'm going to go and have a word with the girl." He entered the hospital room. John looked at Lestrade.

"We probably shouldn't leave him alone with her." Lestrade nodded and opened his mouth to speak but his phone rang.

"Hang on, I'll be right in." John went into the room.

"Maddie?" said Sherlock. The girl flinched. Sherlock's expression barely changed. "Hello Maddison? That is your name right?" she nodded slowly. Sherlock sent a smug look in John's direction. "Ok Maddison. You've met my friend John?" she nodded and smiled fleetingly at John.

"How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?" she shook her head. "Good."

"Maddison, I have something to return to you." Sherlock retrieved the locket from his pocket and held it out to her. She stiffened momentarily, her hand going to her throat, and then a look of relief came over her face. She reached out and gently took the charm from the detective's hand, clasping her hand around it. Lestrade signalled to the doctor and the detective from the door.

"We'll be back in a minute." Sherlock told her with a smile. John frowned. He'd seen Sherlock act in certain ways to get information out of people but that seemed to be unnecessary in this situation.

They went out into the hall and Sherlock immediately launched into a barrage of information.

"She's afraid of her father. She flinched when I called her Maddie, but not Maddison. We already know her father called her Maddie by the necklace. When she saw the locket she was relieved but there was no other emotion which means she wanted it back but not for personal reasons, more likely because she's afraid of what would happen if her father found out she lost it –"

"Sherlock!" lestrade cut him off and held up his phone. "That was one of my officers at the scene of the social services fire. Apparently a man wearing a balaclava entered the building and held them all at gun point while another drugged several members of staff. The rest were tied to their chairs and a letter was left with them. The letter says 'My gift was for Sherlock. Any attempts to redistribute will be met with more of the following'."

"So what are you going to do?" asked John, frowning.

"Well..." Lestrade gave them both a meaningful look. Sherlock's expression was one of confusion and had the situation been different, John would probably have found it amusing. He had caught on immediately.

"We can't take the girl to baker street Lestrade! We'd be giving Moriarty exactly what he wanted."

"Well, you're going to end up playing his game eventually, you always do. This way there are just less casualties. It would only be for a little while. We'd relocate her as soon as possible."

"You want her to live with us?" said Sherlock, catching on.

"Yes, for a while anyway, I mean..."

"I think it's a fantastic idea!" said Sherlock, cutting in. John and Lestrade both stared.

"What?"

"Lestrade's right. I'm going to play Moriarty's game, I might as well have all the clues I can. If she's in baker's street, I'll be able to find out more."

"We can't look after a child."

"Why not? You're a doctor!"

"And you're a sociopath! I could come home and find her head in a pickle jar."

"Don't be ridiculous." Scoffed Sherlock "I wouldn't pickle her head, it's far more useful on her shoulders."

"Seriously Sherlock, we cannot take care of a child."

"Of course we can. Moriarty wants us to play; I'm going to play his game. Mrs Hudson can help us take care of her I'm sure! It's a great idea" He smiled widely. John and Lestrade exchanged confused looks. "When can we take her home?"

"I'll...ask the doctors."

* * *

_**A/N: The song in this chapter was Special Death by Mirah**_


End file.
